


In the Hour After Zero

by Amuly



Series: Always Married 'Verse [1]
Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Anal Sex, Developing Relationship, Frottage, Hermann has MS, M/M, Marriage, Marriage Proposal, Married Couple, Multiple Sclerosis, Old Married Couple, Pre-Canon, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-22
Updated: 2013-08-22
Packaged: 2017-12-24 06:57:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/936761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amuly/pseuds/Amuly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the case of Drs Newton Geiszler and Hermann Gottleib, "bickering like an old married couple" was actually a fairly literal description of them. After all, they had started dating one year after Newt came aboard the PPDC, then married two years after that. So maybe the "old" part of "old married couple" wasn't perfectly accurate, but it was really just technicalities at that point.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Hour After Zero

 

_1/2025... T-Five Days to the Breach_

Raleigh set the six-pack down on one of the chairs in LOCCENT, then wheeled it over to where Tendo was relaxing. His feet were up on the control panel, systems shut down and quiet for the night. Raleigh passed him a beer first, then took one for himself as he set himself down in a chair across from Tendo.

Tendo held out the beer, neck tilted toward Raleigh, with a smile on his face. “To your highly-anticipated return to the field.”

Raleigh snorted incredulously, but knocked his bottle into Tendo's regardless: necks, then bottoms. They both leaned back in their chairs as they took the first swig of the amber liquid. Tendo smacked his lips.

“This is good. How the hell did you get it?”

Raleigh grinned. “What, you don't think I let Pentecost drag my sorry ass out here without some sort of compensation, did you?”

Tendo scoffed into his beer. “And here I was, following him around without even trying to get some sweet bribes out of it.”

“Fool on you,” Raleigh shrugged.

They sipped on their beers for a few minutes, enjoying the taste of the thick amber liquid. Raleigh peered down the neck into his bottle. It really was a good brew—next to impossible to find, nowadays.

“You settling in alright?” Tendo asked after a minute. “Pentecost show you the ropes?”

“Yeah, him and Mako,” Raleigh replied. He leaned forward. “Hey, so what's her deal, anyway? Why hasn't anyone let her out in the field yet? No partners?”

Tendo shrugged. “No resources, I'd guess. Take it up with her—I'm just the J-Tech leader.”

Raleigh snorted, but relaxed back into his chair. “Yeah, and head information officer, if I remember correctly.”

“Is that what they're calling gossiping now?”

“Well I figured you'd like the formality of it,” Raleigh pointed out.

Tendo laughed. “No gossip 'round here, brother. Nothing interesting, at least. The Russians are disgustingly in love and surprisingly sweet, once you get a few vodkas in them.”

Raleigh perked up. “Vodka?”

Tendo winked. “If the world doesn't end sometime soon, I'll get you into one of their poker games. Fair warning, though: Sasha's gonna win. Accept it now, and you'll be a happier man.” Tendo paused long enough to finish off his beer and grab another one from the six-pack. “The Australians, well: you've had the pleasure of meeting them. Herc's really not bad, just the kid.”

Raleigh nodded. “Figured that out myself.”

“Asians keep to themselves, but they're pretty friendly if you make the effort. Sweet kids, really. Two of them have girls waiting for them back in Bejing.”

Raleigh smiled. “What's wrong with the third?”

Tendo's eyes were glimmering as he shot back: “He's got a mechanic here. Hanti.”

Raleigh laughed. “Oh. The other two?”

Tendo shrugged. “If they've got a problem with it, I've never heard it.”

Raleigh nodded, sipping at his beer. He'd let himself have one more, this evening, before resting up. Big day tomorrow: trying out Mako's choices to see who would be Drift-compatible with him.

“What about that 'research division' of yours? Am I gonna walk in one day to find they killed each other or something?”

Tendo laughed—there was something behind it, something he knew that Raleigh didn't. “Our fine Doctor's _Gottleib_ and _Geiszler_ ,” Tendo said with a heavy German accent. “Hermann and Newt. Don't worry about them, they're fine.”

“Sure seemed like the bigger one was going to rip the smaller one's throat out about a minute after we left them.”

“Naw, naw. They've been married for like eight or nine years.”

Raleigh almost dropped his beer in shock. “You're kidding me.”

Tendo shook his head. “Rumor has it, got married a year after they started working for the PPDC.”

Actually, they started _dating_ one years after Newt came aboard the PPDC, married two years after that. So they'd only been married around six years by the time Raleigh showed up in Hong Kong. But that was mostly technicalities, at that point.

* * *

_8/7/16... T-Eight Years, Four Months to the Breach_

It was a bright, sunny day in LA when Newt first stepped foot onto the LA Shatterdome. He grinned, looking around the expensive facility as he adjusted his backpack over one shoulder.

“If you'll follow me?” His recruiter—David? John? Boring name, whatever—was gesturing towards the main entrance.

Newt grinned and grabbed at all his bags. “Right, yeah! Totally. Let me at it!”

There was a trolley waiting for them that Newt stacked all his bags onto, keeping just his backpack slung over one shoulder. DavidJohn told him as they were taken away that they'd be waiting for him in his room by the time the tour wrapped up. This new gig was _swanky_. Newt never had that kind of service as a grad student, or as a prof. Not even as a guest lecturer!

The tour led Newt through all the typical stuff: Jaeger, LOCCENT, mess hall, all that jazz. But what Newt was _really_ interested in came at the end of the tour (typical): the lab space.

There were about a dozen other scientists in the lab when Newt stepped in, busy at all their own stations. Down the center of the room was an invisible but entirely obvious dividing line: biologists on one side, programmers and mathematicians on the other. Whiteboards dominated the walls and floorspace on both sides of the room, but on the left there were specimens—specimens!—and all the equipment Newt expected to see in a typical biology lab: centrifuges, petri dishes, refrigerators, incubators, &c. The mathematician/programmer side of the room was filled by computers and nerds hard at work in front of their screens. But there was one of the mathematicians who was up at the whiteboards, scribbling something furiously. He had two markers in one hand, another in his other, and one in his mouth. Newt watched, head cocked and smiling, as the man flawlessly switched between the markers as he worked, scribbling one thing in green, another in blue, boxing a third thing in red and drawing arrows from it to the blue _and_ the green.

“And this-”

Newt waved off DavidJohn. “Yeah yeah. That's great. Hey, I'm gonna go talk to Gottlieb, alright? Thanks for the tour.”

DavidJohn might have said something else, but Newt ignored him as he hurried across the room.

This guy, this mathematician scribbling at the boards, was _definitely_ The Hermann Gottlieb. Newt had read all his papers as he was publishing them: first the ones on the location of the Breach had captured his interest, and then when he realized what a fucking _genius_ the guy was, he went back and read all his papers on building the operating system for the Jaeger. Then, when Newt got the opportunity to come out and work in the PPDC (which he accepted because _holy shit_ he'd get to be working on the front lines of defense against the Kaijus. Who in their right minds would turn _down_ that kind of historic freaking opportunity?!), Newt had immediately gone online and stalked every one of the scientists he'd be working with. And there he was, just another name on the list: Hermann Gottlieb.

“Gottlieb? Hermann Gottlieb?” Newt called out as he got closer.

The man at the whiteboard turned, clearly baffled. When his eyes alighted on Newt, he stared, squinty-eyed and no less confused, as Newt drew to a stop in front of him.

“It's _Dr_. Gottlieb,” was the first thing Hermann said to Newt.

Newt laughed and shoved his hand out in front of him. “Yeah, I'm sure we're all Dr's here. Hey, man, _huge_ fan of your work. The results you got on the Breach models? Seriously dude: blew my fucking mind. I would have _never_ thought to use fourth-dimensional topology like that, it was fucking _sick_.”

Hermann glanced down at Newt's hand like it was something horribly distasteful. He didn't take it. “And... You are...”

Newt blew a raspberry at himself and slapped himself on the forehead. “Right, _duh_ , of course. Newt Geiszler. Just transferred in. Looks like-”

“Excuse me,” Hermann interrupted. He looked even more stunned now than he had been before. “Do you mean _Dr._ Newton Geiszler?”

Newt scoffed. “Yeah, I mean. I guess. Don't call me 'Dr' though: seriously bro. It way weirds me out.”

“I...” Hermann's mouth was stuck open, gaping like a fish. Newt cocked his head.

“Hey, man: you wanna grab some grub? I know I'm still on east-coast time but I am _starving_. Come on, we can pick each other's brains.”

Leaning forward, Newt plucked the markers out of Hermann's hands and set them on the runner at the bottom of the whiteboard. Hermann just stared at him.

“There you go, don't need those. Come on! You can help me not get lost.”

They had gotten maybe a hundred feet from the lab by the time Hermann found his voice again. “I'm sorry, I'm just... You're the Dr. Geiszler who first sequenced the genetic code of the Kaiju?”

Newt shrugged. “Eh, me and my advisor. I mean, I was first author on the paper, yeah.”

“And the Dr. Geiszler who classified the taxonomy of the skin parasites that live on the Kaiju?”

Newt glanced around uncomfortably. “Yeah, I... Could you stop calling me 'Dr. Geiszler'?” Seriously, he was only twenty-six. And he got his first PhD at nineteen. “Doctor” always made him feel _way_ old, and it's not like he needed people to call him it for the respect it brought or something. If someone doubted how smart and capable he was, well: they'd see they were wrong soon enough. No need to toss honorifics around.

They were just entering the mess hall when Hermann stopped and grabbed Newt by the shoulders. “Dr. Geiszler, your work on the Kaiju blue chemical analysis is one of the most expedient, meticulous work I've ever laid my eyes on. The results you were able to achieve-”

“Seriously dude!” Newt interrupted him. “Just 'Newt'! Come on, you're killing me. Food: now.” Newt grabbed at Hermann's arm and companionably led him over to the line for food. He felt Hermann looking at him, studying him like Newt was used to studying specimens in his lab, until they sat down at a table together.

“Alright, come on.” Newt shoveled some mashed potatoes into his mouth and gestured at Hermann with his fork. “Out with it.”

Hermann hesitated, poking at his chicken as he thought. Finally he set down his fork and leaned forward. “It's just... You're not exactly what I was picturing.”

Newt shrugged. “I get that a lot.”

“You're much younger, for one.”

Newt winked. “Cuter, too. I know.”

The comment went right over Hermann's head, much to Newt's disappointment. The guy was kinda cute in a stuffy academic sort of way. And his papers were fucking brilliant, which was always a big plus for Newt's libido.

“You're not...” Hermann glanced Newt up and down, then snapped his mouth shut. “I'm apologize. I'm being rude.”

“Naw, don't worry.” Newt gently kicked Hermann under the table. “It's everybody's first reaction. I had to show my faculty ID the first dozen guest lectures I gave at different universities. Not sure if I finally started to look older or word just got out, but now it's not usually a problem.”

“Right,” Hermann mumbled, still clearly a little bit shell-shocked.

“So whatchya doing here?” Newt asked. He already knew, had already looked everybody up online, but he figured a change of subject was in order.

“Ah. Right.” Primly Hermann dabbed at the corners of his mouth with the paper napkins the mess hall provided. Newt grinned and shoveled some more food into his mouth. Hermann: serious lay-ability potential, for sure.

Quickly Hermann outlined the new algorithm he was working on to help locate the exact placement of the breach, as well as a new algorithm Newt hadn't caught wind of yet, concerning the four-dimensional structure of the breach.

“It was your paper persuasively arguing that the biological makeup of these creatures was extra-terrestrial that caused me to try adding the fourth dimensional component to the model.”

Newt shrugged. “Eh, I did most the work on that paper because I was trying to impress this X-Files chick. Turned out it worked; but then I learned preeettyy quickly: never try to impress someone who's _that_ into UFOs. Two words: urethral sounding.”

Hermann was staring at Newt, expression utterly aghast.

“Oh, don't worry,” Newt reassured him, completely misreading the situation. “Totally single now. No baggage besides whatever they dumped in my room. Hey, speaking of-”

“You wrote _the_ seminal paper on the extraterrestrial origins of the biological makeup of the Kaiju to... impress a 'chick'?”

Newt's fork dangled precariously between his fingers. “Um,” he managed to mutter around a mouthful of food. “All the data is accurate, if that's-”

Abruptly Hermann jumped up from his spot. His motions were all manner of jerky and awkward. Newt just stared on in confusion. “I- excuse me, Dr. Geiszler. There are matters that need my attention in the lab.” As he snatched up his trey, Newt heard him mutter “not all of us can rock the scientific world just by trying to impress the fairer sex.”

Newt stared after him, wondering where exactly he went wrong. “I like dick, too!” he tried. Hermann's steps didn't falter. “And it's just 'Newt', dude!”

Hermann turned the corner and was gone from sight. Newt stared after him. Hadn't the guy been like, a _fan_ ten minutes ago? What the hell?

Surreptitiously Newt smelled his underarms and breathed into his hand. There was no pleasing some people, he supposed.

* * *

_9/2016... T-Eight Years, Three Months to the Breach_

About a day into working together, the magic had gone from their relationship. A month in, and their colleagues had learned to ignore their antics.

“How many PhDs do you have?” Newt shouted across the room.

“That's hardly relevant-”

“How many? What was that? How many?”

“ _No one gets six PhDs you_ _narcissistic_ _imbecile_! Maybe if you had stopped wasting your time getting _useless_ degrees-”

“I _know_ that _I_ have six, I was asking how many _you_ have!”

A clipboard-sized whiteboard flew across the room. Newt dodged it, jumping back up with his glasses askew. “Are you kidding me?! Who throws a whiteboard?!”

Hermann snarled as he turned back to one of the wall-sized whiteboards. “You're disturbing the other scientists.”

The other scientists all had headphones resolutely plugged into their ears and were ducked as close to their workstations as possible. Even the biologists, who were walking around the room, were crouched down as they scuttled from one end of the lab to the other. None of them made the mistake of looking in the direction of either Newt or Hermann.

“ _You're_ disturbing the other scientists,” Newt mocked.

Angrily Newt tossed a dead Kaiju skin parasite down onto one of the lab tables to examine it. He sliced open its abdomen, skinning the hard exoskeleton in about four quick movements. When he tossed that aside, he threw with a little too much force and it skidded across the table, landing on the mathematicians' side of the lab. The air felt like it was sucked from the room. Every scientist, mathematician and biologist, seemed to freeze in place.

Hermann stomped across the lab, crossing the unspoken line that kept the two sides from each other. Newt ignored him, burying his face in the entrails of the parasite. He wasn't even sure he remembered what he was looking for—one of the glands, something to do with noxious chemicals, but seriously did he _so_ not care at the moment.

Newt was paying about three hundred percent more attention to Hermann than the parasite innards as he stomped across the lab and picked up a pair of forceps. Then he stomped back over—his gait was off, Newt had noticed that the first they had met, but today it seemed even more off than usual—and grabbed at the exoskeleton with the forceps. Hermann shoved the exoskeleton into Newt's workspace. “Keep your disgusting biological refuse off _my_ side of the lab!”

“Oh, I'm sorry: did accidentally knocking an exoskeleton across the room disturb you?”

“Yes, yes it-”

“As much as _throwing a whiteboard at my head_ disturbed _my_ work?!”

Newt wasn't paying attention to what he was doing. He was too focused on trying to peer over the top of the ten different magnifying lenses he had attached to his glasses to stare down Hermann. His finger slipped, something moved incorrectly, and suddenly his world was awash in fire and pain, drowning out whatever surely-pithy response Hermann was firing back at him with.

Hermann was on top of him before Newt even registered he was screaming, stumbling backwards and clutching his hand in pain. The latex gloves he was working with were already eaten through, and the skin on his hand was bubbling. Some distant corner of his mind was cataloguing all this, wondering “ _What could have caused_ that _; I have to isolate that chemical and analyze it; I have to find the gland and figure out what it does, what its purpose is. Perhaps there's an analogous gland or chemical composition somewhere in the Kaiju anatomy_.” Most of his mind, however, was screaming in pain. As well as his mouth, apparently.

He was at the wash station, the emergency shower, about a half second after all this registered. Hermann was holding him under it and slapping the button, getting them both soaking wet. Newt, because he was a fucking idiot, apparently, actually jumped back at the sudden spray of water. Hermann resolutely held him in place, even though his mouth turned down into a full-on grimace.

“Stop struggling, you imbecile, or you'll wind up losing your hand.”

Newt went very, very still as his brain caught up to everything that just happened. He glanced around, through wet glasses, to see the rest of the lab had jumped up and was staring at the two of them. Hermann was still standing with him, holding him and his hand under the spray, grim-faced and determined. Slowly Newt glanced down at his hand. It was blistered and red, the skin practically falling off already, the glove entirely gone and its remnants cluttering up the drain. The searing pain was still there, but had died down some, at least.

When Hermann finally deemed him suitably sanitized, he shut off the chemical shower and tugged Newt out with him. His hand hadn't left Newt's wrist since the whole thing started. “You're going to medical, now,” he ordered.

“Holy shit, dude,” Newt mumbled as he allowed himself to be dragged out of the lab. “You just saved my life.”

“As flattering as your histrionics are in this case, let us not be melodramatic,” Hermann muttered. He wasn't looking at Newt, just walking them steadily down the halls to the medbay.

“Seriously, dude-”

“'Seriously',” Hermann cut him off. His eyes trailed over to the side, refusing to making even the slightest contact with Newt's. “It was nothing.” A moment's pause, then: “I couldn't allow our top astrobiologist to be out of commission when we could have another Kaiju attack any day.”

Newt perked up. “Do you have the predictive model-”

“It was a manner of speech,” Hermann quickly cut in. He glanced over at Newt, and something approaching a rueful smile might have flashed across his face. “I'm afraid I don't have enough data for such a model, yet. And all my mathematical energies are currently focused on locating the Breach.”

When Newt sat almost-still in medical and let the doctors work on treating his hand, Hermann waited glumly by his side. He was giving the doctors dirty looks, which Newt could find absolutely no explanation for. Maybe the guy was jealous of medical doctors. Maybe he just had a bad experience with them. Newt was beginning to suspect it had something to do with that maybe-stiff gait he had noticed Hermann on occasion slipping into, the last few days.

“Dude, you gotta let me buy you a drink or something,” Newt told Hermann as they left the medical center together.

“I am quite alright without alcoholic compensation—or any compensation, for that matter.”

“Aw no, come on-”

“Good day, Dr. Geiszler.”

Newt watched Hermann stride quickly away from him, gait barely faltering as he hurried down the hallway. Newt pouted for a moment, scratching absently at the bandage the medical staff had wrapped around his chemically burned hand. “Our ancestors would be disappointed in you!” Newt finally called out after him, just before he turned a corner. “And it's 'Newt'!”

Newt thought that maybe, just for a _second_ , Hermann hesitated. But then he was gone from sight, and Newt sighed. He glanced down at his hand woefully. Then he remembered that he had a whole knew chemical to run an analysis on, and he was racing back to the lab as fast as he could without his hand throbbing painfully in its dressings.

* * *

_12/2016... T-Eight Years, One Month to the Breach_

Hermann stomped over to Newt's section of the lab, obviously on the warpath. It was after dinnertime, so most of their colleagues had left, but not all. Newt and Hermann had both been in the lab since early that morning. First in, last out, it seemed was their shared motto. One of the few things they actually had in common.

“Have you actually made any useful progress with that revolting line of inquiry you've been working on these past three months?”

Newt rolled his eyes. Every fucking day, it was the same question with this guy! “Did you figure out what the chemicals are?” “Did you learn if the Kaiju share them?” “Did you learn their purpose?” It's like the guy didn't understand that xenobiology wasn't an exact science that yielded immediate results—it wasn't _math_ , for Pete's sake.

“Have you made any progress locating the Breach?”

That was totally a low-blow, and Newt knew it. Hermann went white-lipped and gripped the cane in his hands tightly. Newt did his best not to look at it, even though he wanted to ask. He knew Hermann wouldn't want him to ask. And as much as the man irritated the living shit out of him, Newt still _liked_ the guy, in spite of himself. In spite of _Hermann's_ ever-constant attempts to make them mortal enemies.

Though seriously, some days they guy could go fuck himself. Like today.

“I'll have you know that I have a predictive model which has narrowed the search area to within fifty miles-”

“Oh, fifty miles? You mean fifty _square_ miles, right? And that's just two-dimensional? So we're ignoring the _miles_ of z-axis space here, are we?”

Hermann's lips pressed tight again, his composure slipping more. “The model is running. I have no new data to work with. Which, _you_ could change-”

“Dude, I highly doubt figuring out what the hell is up with all these toxic glands the Kaiju and their skin parasites have is going to lead to some big breakthrough in your algorithm for locating the Breach.”

Newt was turning away to go back to checking the petri dish of one of his samples when Hermann suddenly snapped: “Aren't you even going to ask about it?!”

Newt stopped what he was doing and turned around so fast he almost tripped over himself. He abruptly realized they were alone in the lab: the last of their colleagues must have filtered out during their arguing.

He knew what Hermann was referencing. The way he was grimacing, except not out of anger or irritation like usual: he was in some degree of pain, and... maybe even embarrassed. Ashamed. Newt forced himself to stare Hermann in the eye, not even glancing down at the cane that he was gripping so hard it shook, like a terrible lifeline he wanted to throw away.

“Does it help with or fuck up your calculations?” Newt snapped back.

That was apparently just the right thing to say, because Hermann seemed taken aback. “No,” he replied simply.

“Then _no_ , I'm _not_ going to ask about it: what does it matter? If you wanna tell me, you'll tell me.” Newt turned away and ran a hand through his surely messy hair. Yeah, he wanted to know—he was concerned for the guy. But he wasn't gonna pry. “ _Fuck_ ,” he mumbled, mostly to himself.

A beat of silence, something that sounded like a soft “oh” from Hermann. Newt didn't say anything, or look back at him, as he pulled the petri dish out of the incubator and set to work preparing a slide of the material for examination under the microscope. It was only after he was bent over the microscope, observing the shape and composition of the cells that he had pulled from the sample, that Hermann cleared his throat and replied: “Well. Let me know when you get some real work done.”

“Right back atchya, buddy,” Newt shot back. He waited until he heard the soft thump of Hermann's footsteps, and the slightly louder thump of his cane, before he glanced up. Hermann was retreating back to his side of the lab at a sedate pace. From what Newt could catch of his expression, it was more at ease than he had seen in months.

Then Hermann was turning to glance back at him, and Newt ducked his head back into the microscope so fast that he knocked his eyes against it.

He ended the evening with Hermann shoving a pack of frozen peas against his eye and complaining noisily about his utterly impossible clumsiness. As they closed up the lab and parted ways to go to their separate on-base apartments, Newt knocked his elbow gently into Hermann's, still holding the bag of peas to his eye. “Hey, by the way.” He nodded at the cane. “Not suggesting you do, but if you ever need anything, lemme know.”

Hermann grimaced and glanced away, but he nodded stiffly. “Though I doubt it will ever bring me so low as to need _your_ help on the matter...” and his voice was practically _nice_ , pretty much as nice as Newt had ever heard it since their first meeting “I will remember the offer.”

Newt shrugged and left it at that. He woke up the next morning with a black eye, but it probably wasn't as bad as it might have been without Hermann there to play nursemaid, again.

* * *

_4/23/2017...T-Seven Years, Nine Months to the Breach_

“That's it!” Newt screeched.

The whole lab went silent. To be fair, the only people in the lab besides himself was Hermann and one other particularly dogged programmer, tapping away at her computer with headphones jammed firmly into her ears. But, hey: Hermann fell silent. That was what mattered.

“We are settling this!”

Hermann blinked, then glanced around the room dramatically. His cane was absent today—Newt supposed that meant whatever it was, he had good days and bad days. Today was a good day. Which was kinda why Newt figured he might get somewhere with his crazy plan to convince Hermann to loosen up today.

“How, exactly, do you purpose we settle the location of the Breach?” Hermann asked him. He gesticulated wildly. “Do you have a deep-sea vessel you suggest we commander for the evening?”

Newt pointed a finger at Hermann. “I challenge you to the ancient and solemn battle... of _karaoke_!”

Hermann scoffed.

Newt stared.

“You can't _possibly_ be serious.”

“I've challenged you, dude.” Newt finally dropped his finger. “You must accept the challenge or accept that I am totally right and the Breach isn't at the bottom of the ocean, but somewhere mid-level.”

“That's _preposterous_ , all of my models indicate a _high_ probability that the Breach is at the bottom of-” Hermann snapped his mouth shut as Newt grinned at him, bouncing on his heels.

“Fine.”

Newt barely resisted jumping up in the air and pumping his fists. He _did_ go wide-eyed and grin like a little bit of a lunatic. “Holy shit, you serious?”

Hermann tugged at his jacket top. “If I must participate in this _foolish_ endeavor just to put an end to your idiocy... then yes. I am quite serious.”

Newt immediately grabbed the samples he had been working on and threw them into the fridge. Science could _wait_. What was about to go down was _historic_. Possibly even more so than the Kaiju. … Okay, not _more_ historic than the Kaiju, but seriously: the universe would not begrudge him getting Hermann's ass out of the lab for one night and loosening up. She wasn't that cruel.

They were at a karaoke bar close to the base (that Newt had totally scouted out like, four months ago when it became apparent that Hermann might not completely hate him for the rest of forever) within thirty minutes, Newt making sure they got there before Hermann could change his mind. Though the other man really didn't seem like he was _going_ to change his mind: he appeared begrudgingly pleased with his decision to accompany Newt out of the lab for one evening. They parked themselves on the stools by the bar—briefly Newt considered that maybe Hermann's leg would be better served by a chair, but he seemed fine with the decision.

Newt bought them both two rounds of shots before he even would consider going up and giving the DJ his name and song selection to add to the queue. When he got back to his seat, Hermann had another pair of shots set in front of them and two pints of beer. Newt glanced over at him, shocked, but Hermann shrugged and picked up his shot in a toast.

“You must remember that we share a birth country,” Hermann reminded him.

Newt grinned and grabbed for his shot. “To the fatherland!” he shouted.

Hermann clinked his glass against Newt's with a sort of bubbling, restrained enthusiasm that Newt couldn't help but find completely endearing. He would suspect himself of being slightly drunk, but he had those kinds of thoughts pretty much every day. Even when yelling at the guy—sometimes _especially_ when yelling at the guy.

“Auf Deutschland!” Hermann giggled.

Hermann _giggled_. Newt actually forgot to toss back the shot as he let himself fall dreamily into the moment. Then Hermann threw back his and Newt scrambled to follow suit.

Newt was maybe three shots and two beers in by the time his name was called for karaoke. And hey, okay: he could hold his booze, but he was also a pretty small guy, and there was only so much he could do to increase his alcohol tolerance at his height and weight. So he might have been slightly on his way to blitzed when he stumbled up to the front of the room.

But oh man, did he fucking _rock the house_ with his rendition of “Total Eclipse of the Heart”.

“And I need you now tonight!!” Newt shouted, pointing at Hermann. “And I need you moooore than ever! And if you only hoooold me tight! We'll be hoooolding on foooor-ever!” Hermann was blushing red and burying his face into his beer. But you know what was amazing? He didn't look _upset_! He was practically _preening_ , the coy bastard!

“I don't know what to do and I'm always in the dark, We're living in a powder keg and giving off sparks! I really need you tonight!! Foooorever's gonna start tonight!”

He collapsed back onto his stool sweaty and out of breath, but entirely pleased with himself. Newt grabbed at his beer and took a long pull from it before gasping and nodding at Hermann. “Well? What'd you think?”

Hermann snorted and buried his face in his own beer. “Nine out of ten for enthusiasm, I suppose. Unfortunately I can't say as much for the execution.”

“The execution was fucking flawless and you know it, bro. Besides, I haven't seen you go up there and bear all for the studio audiences.”

Just then, the DJ called Hermann's name for the next song. Newt went wide-eyed as Hermann downed the rest of his beer in one gulp (an interesting and erotic image to be saved for further examination later) and pushed himself unsteadily off his stool. “We'll just see who is truly the winner of the evening now, shall we?” With that, Hermann tugged resolutely at his jacket and stumbled over to the DJ.

And then proceeded to _rock Newt's socks off_ with the most _killer_ rendition of “Hier Kommt Alex”, _in German_ , that Newt had ever heard. He was half-hard and whole-in love by the end of the number. When Hermann stumbled back and slid into his stool, it took all the impulse control all his teachers had told him he never had not to jump Hermann right then and there.

“Holy shit, dude!”

Hermann shrugged bashfully and flagged down the bartender to get himself another beer.

“ _Holy shit! Dude!_ ”

Hermann sipped at his beer, quietly brimming with pride.

Newt scrambled to slap repeatedly at Hermann's shoulder. “Holy shit dude you can't just go and _blow it up_ like that and not expect me to pledge my life to you, you fucking smug bastard! Where the hell have you been hiding this whole time?! Where was _this_ Hermann eight months ago?!”

Hermann sniffed delicately, but it totally didn't work because the guy was approaching “totally fucking lit” way faster than Newt was, even given his extra height.

“Perhaps he was waiting for a certain Dr. Geiszler to stop making a complete _ass_ of himself day in and day out.”

Newt snorted into his beer. “Like _that's_ ever gonna stop happening. Come on, admit it: I grew on you.”

“Like mold,” Hermann replied, but he said it with a smile a a glance from under his eyelashes. Newt scooted his stool closer so he could shove his legs between Hermann's, propping his feet up on Hermann's stool next to his.

“You know I think you're a fucking genius, right?” Newt asked. Okay, maybe he was definitely sliding way closer to drunk than he had realized a few minutes ago. “I mean. The _math_ you do... dude. It's fucking. Fucking sick.”

Hermann ducked his head and spoke directly into his drink. Newt grumbled and grabbed at him.

“What?”

Hermann kept his eyes fixed on the bar, but spoke more intelligibly at least. “I _said_ : I believe an apology might be in order. From me to you, that is.”

“Apology?” Newt's brain wasn't doing to good at figuring out what Hermann could be talking about. “For what?”

“The first day we met. I... I had a conception of you, in my mind. From the papers of yours that I had read, before I met you. And when the real thing didn't match up to that conception... I'm afraid it made me judge you too harshly.”

“Pfftt.” Newt blew a raspberry, waving aside the apology with a sloppy hand. “Seriously, dude: don't worry about it.”

“No.” Hermann set his beer glass down firmly, apparently determined to get this out. “It was entirely out of line—nay: _uncouth_ of me-”

Newt snorted. “'Nay'.” He giggled to himself.

“I... I promised myself I wouldn't judge people like that. A long time ago. Not... Not just because they didn't live up to my imaginary preconceptions of them. And I broke that promise with you.”

Even through the alcohol, Newt's mind screamed at him _“_ _Daddy issues_!!”. Yeah, not like he hadn't figured _that_ one out from day one.

“Hermann:” Newt straightened up in his chair (or thought he did), and set a serious hand on Hermann's shoulder. Looking him straight in the eye, Newt declared: “I formally accept your apology on one condition.”

Hermann, adorable fucking asshole that he was, looked so painfully _earnest_ at that, that Newt almost felt bad. “Of course. But if you don't mind me asking: what might that condition be?”

“ _Duet_!” Newt screamed.

They sang “Under Pressure” together. Newt was Freddy Mercury. It was fucking magical.

Hours later, _way_ too late for a Thursday night, Newt and Hermann stumbled back to base to their apartments together. They reached Newt's first, just by sheer chance of the layout of the base.

“Thank you,” Hermann slurred, trying to stand up on his own but failing miserably, “for an enjoyable evening.”

Newt almost fell over himself laughing at how formal Hermann was trying to be. But for just a minute he decided to play along.

“And thank you, Hermann, for accompanying me this evening.”

“It was my-” _hiccup_ “-pleasure.”

Still laughing to himself, Newt tugged on Hermann's tie—still around his neck, but nearly untied at this point. “C'mere you jerk,” he grumbled. He dragged Hermann down into a sloppy, but pretty damn chaste for the state the two of them were in, kiss.

Hermann kissed back, which when Newt thought about it later, should have been more of surprise than it was. But in the moment, after karaoke and drinks and bonding over their mutual German-ness, it seemed totally right and natural that Hermann would kiss him back.

He was a cute kisser, Newt thought. Reserved and wound a little too tight, even after all the booze. But earnest, and enthusiastic, and obviously very much into it.

Newt pulled back and sloppily dropped a kiss to the tip of Hermann's nose. Hermann was still leaning into him, body seemingly frozen in shock. “Get some sleep, man,” Newt told him. “Seeya tomorrow.”

Newt went into his quarters and closed the door behind him with Hermann still standing there, blindly staring after him. He collapsed into bed and passed out before he could even consider jerking off to the potential future outcomes of the evening.

The next morning Newt woke up feeling on the wrong side of death and with a stomach screaming at him for carbohydrates and grease. After spending about ten minutes in his bathroom, making sure his stomach would let him out of the apartment long enough to grab the necessary grub, Newt pulled on an old MIT hoodie and sweatpants and stumbled out of his room.

And stumbled right over Hermann's sleeping body.

“Fuck!” Newt shouted as his face met the floor.

Hermann was letting out a similarly pained exclamation, which served pretty well as a balm to Newt's injuries, because the sound of it made him forget all about them.

“Shit, Hermann, what the hell? You okay?”

Hermann's muscles didn't seem to be cooperating with him too well, if the way he was struggling to drag himself upright into a sitting position were any indication. Scrambling over to him, Newt helped haul him as gently as possible into place, hands hovering with the need to do something but uncertain as to what would make it worse. Hermann's hands were kneading at his leg, his bad leg, so Newt decided maybe he could do that much at least. He let his hands join Hermann's, rubbing gently but firmly at the muscle. Hermann groaned and let his head fall back against the wall to Newt's apartment, then immediately winced as his head thudded against the concrete.

“Dude, what the hell?” Newt asked, as quietly as he could.

“I...” Hermann blinked, looking around with an expression as lost as Newt was sure his own was. “I appear to have passed out in front of your apartment.” He frowned, obviously thinking back. “Did you kiss me?”

“Yeah, but I didn't do anything else. And you seemed pretty into it. Not that I would take advantage. It was just one kiss. But it was good. But it's cool if you hated it.” Newt knew he was rambling, but oh well: that's what happened when he got nervous.

Luckily, Hermann was smiling faintly, eyes soft as he looked at Newt. “On the contrary,” he mumbled. “I believe—if I recall correctly—that it was quite agreeable.”

Newt beamed, still rubbing at Hermann's leg. “Oh. Hey. Alright then. Wanna, uh. Can you get up? I was going to grab breakfast. I could bring some back?”

Hermann frowned down at his leg, then tried to push himself up. That failed pretty spectacularly almost immediately, so he sighed and leaned back against the wall once more. “If you wouldn't mind helping me into your apartment? I believe I'm in need of quite a bit of hydration, rest, and perhaps some food before I can russell up the energy to get back to my quarters.”

“Of course, dude,” Newt said. It was awkward, but he managed to swing Hermann's arms over his shoulders and bodily haul him into his apartment, step by excruciating step. He deposited Hermann on his bed, then quickly ran around until he found an old baseball bat he could use as a cane in a pinch. But when he asked after the cane, “Do you want me to go get it?” Hermann just shook his head.

“After how roughly I treated myself last night, it won't do me any more good than resting and rehydrating.”

“Gimme ten minutes,” Newt promised. He raced from the room as fast as he could, almost forgetting his own hangover in his haste to help Hermann through his. He still didn't know exactly what Hermann's condition was—though he had a short list, by this point—but at least in this moment he had two specific things he could do to help: food and water. Maybe some orange juice, too.

By the time Newt returned to his apartment with arguably _way_ more food than the two of them could hope to eat between them, Hermann had fallen deeply asleep on his bed. Newt grinned, probably looking like an insane stalker as he did so, and settled down to eat his share of the breakfast at his tiny kitchen table-cum-work desk.

When Hermann woke a few hours later, the two men switched off positions: Newt crawled into bed to try and sleep off the remnants of his hangover, while Hermann limped his way over to the kitchen table to pick at his cold breakfast. Before he collapsed into bed Newt shoved a toaster oven at Hermann. Then he slept for the next few hours, trusting Hermann not to burn his apartment down. He probably followed better safety precautions that Newt anyway.

That afternoon, Newt helped Hermann limp his way to his own apartment, ignoring the looks half the base was surely shooting them. When Hermann reached his door he unlocked it and started to step inside. Newt hung back, unsure if his offer to help extended within the confines of Hermann's personal quarters.

To his surprise, Hermann turned around and smiled faintly at him, before squashing it down for reasons only Hermann probably knew.

“Newton. It was... not unpleasant.”

Newt grinned crookedly. “Hey, likewise.”

Hermann glanced down, then over to the left, then down, then back over his shoulder, then down again. It took Newt stupidly long to catch on, but to be fair, he was still _pretty_ hungover.

Hermann was just starting to say: “Well. I'll-” when Newt hopped up on his toes and drew him into a kiss. Hermann was stiffer than last night, but he was definitely kissing back: tentative, hesitating, drawing back and pushing forward repeatedly like he couldn't make up his mind, but _totally kissing back_.

Newt pulled away first, just so he could catch a glimpse of Hermann's face. It had gone all tight in concentration but loose in happiness, all at once. Newt didn't bother to hide his own happy grin.

After a second or two Hermann seemed to realize he wasn't getting any more kissing, so he opened his eyes and pulled back. “Right.” Hermann twitched, like he wanted to move in for more but wasn't sure how to initiate. “Right,” he said again, and Newt was just _teaming_ with energy, _vibrating_ with it, but wanting even more to just leave it as it was, to watch Hermann fumble his way out of his _clearly_ repressed emotional state.

“I suppose I'll see you tomorrow in the lab.”

Newt frowned. “Tomorrow's Saturday.”

“Yes, well. We did miss today's workday, after all.”

Well, _okay_. When you put it like _that_.

Newt whistled to himself the whole way back to his apartment.

The next day, Hermann was using his cane to quite effectively knock Newt's samples over the invisibly demarcated line down the center of the lab and Newt was insulting his predictive models once again.

“Nothing in the biology of these creatures suggests that they can survive at those depths!” Newt was trying to explain.

Hermann scowled and stomped his way over to Newt's whiteboards. Rapidly he sketched out the basic anatomy of a Kaiju—Trespasser, to be precise. He started marking large checks in green over different areas of the Kaiju: the head, the chest, the tail. “Nothing in the biology of the Kaijus-”

“Kai _ju_.”

“-suggests they _cannot_ survive at those depths,” Hermann explained, ignoring Newt's etymological interjection.

“The skull is thick enough to prevent collapse under the pressure. The lungs, developed enough not to do the same. The secondary brain that you posit exists, protected by enough muscle, bone, and cartilage to survive.”

Newt jumped up and snatched at the markers, ready to make about sixteen counterpoints to Hermann's ham-fisted attempt at xenobiology.

Guess the honeymoon phase was over already.

* * *

_7/2017... T-Seven Years, Five Months to the Breach_

Newt kicked gently at Hermann's feet under the table as he read, swinging them back and forth and finding calm in the rhythmic contact of Hermann's feet. Across from him, Hermann's head was buried deep into his own paper, red pen tapping noisily above the table, in sync with the movement of his feet below.

“Done!” Newt announced happily, peering up.

Hermann didn't even glance up from his paper. “This is not a _race_ ,” he grumbled. “Some of us like to be sure we have _thoroughly_ read through every line before claiming completion.”

“Every line is perfect and you know it,” Newt scoffed. He scooted a little lower in his chair so he could rub his toe up Hermann's ankle. Hermann didn't even twitch, though Newt thought maybe his eyes hesitated in their careful track across the page. Newt counted it as a win and kept at it. Finally Hermann set down the paper and snapped his glasses off with a sigh. Newt pretended like he didn't want to ask about their sudden appearance over the last few days, as they were stressing themselves to get this paper ready for publication.

“It doesn't seem that I can find anything worth editing,” Hermann begrudgingly admitted. Newt laughed triumphantly.

“See?! Perfect. We're fucking geniuses, baby.”

“Please refrain from calling me that ever again.”

“I feel like this is a milestone for us. First paper we publish together?” Newt rubbed his foot against Hermann's ankle with a little more intent behind it.

Little blotches of red started to appear on Hermann's neck. Newt found it horribly endearing. “It's not published yet. We mustn't get ahead-”

“Pffft, come on: it's a _Geiszler and Gottlieb_ paper! It's getting published: trust me.”

After a moment, Hermann bobbed his head and a smile slipped its restraints and appeared on his lips. “Well. I suppose it _is_ quite remarkable.”

“You've pinpointed the Breach, man! They're gonna give you a fucking Nobel.”

“Fields Medal.”

“They'll figure out a way to give you a Nobel, you just watch.”

“Well.” Hermann ducked his head in embarrassment. Newt watched, smile too big and too pleased to be on the right side of creepy, but oh well. “It's not as though your contributions were negligible.”

“Hey man, it's _your_ models that rocked this. I just got you some sweet data, is all. That's nothing.”

“It's not-”

“Hey, come on: Who's first author, right? _You_.”

Hermann shrugged and ducked his head even more, before glancing sheepishly up at Newt. “You truly believe my calculations are correct?”

Newt practically threw himself across the table to grab at Hermann's cheeks and kiss him repeatedly. “I _know_ it, dude. You've _got_ this.”

When Hermann looked too stunned—and maybe a little too horny—to reply, Newt did all the work for him.

“We should celebrate. Dinner?”

Hermann glanced over at him, smile tugging vaguely at the corner of his lips. “Well. I suppose a tasteful dinner wouldn't be amiss under the circumstances.”

Jumping up, Newt waited patiently for Hermann to collect his things and lever himself upright. He fell into line with Newt on the way out of the Shatterdome, gait slightly stiff but not enough to warrant comment. Newt happily skipped forward and dropped back as he kept in line with Hermann's more sedate pace.

“You know this could like, _end this_ ,” Newt pointed out. “If we can find the Breach, we might figure out a way to close it. We might have seen our _last_ Kaiju.” For a moment Newt pouted. “Man, kinda wish I had gotten the opportunity to see one in person, though.”

“It is much too early, and he have far too little data, to be thinking such things just yet,” Hermann pointed out. “But perhaps, in time... our model might be the start of something better.”

“You know it,” Newt snorted. “Oh, hey! Let's go to the German place. Get some home-cooked food.” The German place was a cab ride away, not close enough to walk (for Hermann), but Newt figured they could splurge tonight.

To his surprise, Hermann nodded at the suggestion. “Tonight, I believe we deserve it,” he confirmed. Newt grinned and laced his hand with Hermann's when the other man stepped a little closer, body language obviously asking for the affectionate touch. Newt was more than happy to oblige him.

* * *

_4/2018... T-Six Years, Nine Months to the Breach_

Newt's back arched as he pumped himself down onto Hermann. “Fuck. Yeah...” he groaned to himself. Hermann's hands dug in tight to his waist, arms helping move him up and down. Though really, they both knew Newt was doing all the work: thighs positioned under himself just right to bounce up and down on Hermann's dick. It's cool: they had the best sex this way. Newt dropped himself down particularly abruptly in Hermann's lap, then ground his hips down, swiveling Hermann's dick inside him. His head dropped forward, mouth hanging open.

“Fuck, yeah.. Hermann...”

“Yes,” Hermann grunted, muscles trembling and skin slick with sweat. His fingers slipped over Newt's waist, scratching him just a little before he regained his grip. Newt groaned and the little shock of pain, resuming his rhythmic bouncing up and down. Hermann's body tensed even more.

“I... Newton, I...”

“Shit, you close?” Newt asked, without looking down at him. Hermann's dick felt so damn good inside him, he wanted to draw this out as long as possible.

“I... Sooner would be better than later...”

“Shit,” Newt grumbled. He tossed himself forward, meeting Hermann's lips in a sloppy kiss. “Okay, okay: jerk me off, jerk me off, come on.”

Hermann's right hand fumbled from his side to between their bodies, slipping through lube and precome and sweat until it found its target. Newt groaned and ground his hips down against Hermann again, hitting that sweet spot inside himself.

“I'm not-”

“Come on: do me fast, go go go, I can get off-” Newt whined against Hermann's jaw. Herman's hand flew over his dick, stroking Newt off as fast as he could while their bodies continued to move together, hips and stomachs rubbing slickly over each other.

Newt came with a groan, not a half-second before Hermann gasped and jerked beneath him, orgasm torn out of him by the way Newt's body was clenching down around him.

“ _Fuuuck_ ,” Newt groaned, reaching between them to jerk himself through the end of his orgasm, Hermann having gone limp-wristed—and limp everything else—beneath him. Newt dropped himself down onto Hermann a moment later, groaning happily.

After taking a second to catch his breath, Newt lifted himself up and off Hermann, depositing himself heavily onto the mattress next to him. He even peeled the condom off Hermann's dick for him and tied it off and tossed it in the trash, because generally speaking, Hermann wasn't so great at moving around right afterwards.

(Newt liked to think it had more to do with his _awesome_ sexing abilities than it did Hermann's MS. Because thinking about the latter caused a cold pit of dread rise up in Newt's stomach and made him want to grab Hermann and hold him close and never leave the bedroom ever again. But of course Hermann would get irritated and stomp away, more likely with the cane than without it, so Newt forced himself not to think about that and instead mentally praised his skills as a lover. Because, come on: it's not like that was _in_ accurate).

Newt snuggled himself into Hermann's side—not that there was much of a choice in the maybe-double mattress the PPDC allotted them—and rubbed his face all over Hermann's shoulder like a cat.

“That was awesome.”

Hermann just hummed in response, chest still heaving. The first time they had fucked, Newt had actually freaked out a little over how long it took Hermann to slow his breathing and return back to normal afterwards. But apparently that was just Hermann, that was just what happened when he got himself all worked up. Newt insinuated himself under Hermann's arm and pressed his ear to his chest. By now Newt was used to it—it was practically soothing to him, the rapid beat of Hermann's heart, the quick rise and fall of his chest. Newt practically purred.

“We are so awesome at sex,” Newt declared.

“At least you used the plural, that time.”

Newt grinned and snuggled further into Hermann's chest. Then his eyes popped open as his brain started to boot itself back up. Right. That thing he needed to talk to Hermann about. That thing that was going to inspire a totally awkward conversation.

As casually as he could, Newt announced: “Oh, hey, I forgot to tell you: Tokyo wants me.” Newt pulled away from Hermann and leaned over the side of the bed, rummaging around for his bag. After a moment of digging, he found the letter he was looking for and settled back against Hermann's side with it.

Hermann held out his hand and took the letter from Newt when he pressed it there. He was still breathing kinda heavily as he lifted the letter over his head and squinted at it.

“Newton: this is dated a month ago.”

“You know I think you call me that in bed just because you're hot for Enlightenment mathematicians.”

“ _Newton_.”

Newt rubbed a hand through his sweaty hair, making it stick up all directions. He had been doing such a good job of not calling attention to their... living arrangements... too. “Yeah, well, you know: mail disruptions and. Stuff.”

It took a moment of painfully awkward shifting before Hermann was able to prop himself up on one elbow to look at Newt. “Were you hiding this from me?”

Newt blinked. Oh. He hadn't even _thought_ of that. “No! No. I just got it today.”

Hermann continued on, his expression one of soft concern. “Because if you were, you must know that we would make this decision together. I wouldn't... end things between us just because of a new appointment. Nor would I ask that you turn down a better opportunity just for the likes of me.”

“No, no,” Newt hurriedly sought to explain. “It's not that—wait, really? I mean. That's really sweet, I love you, man—but no, look, Hermann, it wasn't that. I just... _kinda_ haven't been back to my apartment. In like. Three weeks.”

Hermann dropped heavily down onto his back once more, mind racing behind his eyes as he stared up at the ceiling. “Three... three _weeks_? Has it been...”

Sheepishly Newt trailed his fingers along the creases of Hermann's elbow. “Yeah, and... that was just to pick up some things. Before that it was two weeks. I. Uh...” he glanced up at Hermann. “I think I kinda moved in.”

“But when?” Hermann asked the ceiling.

Newt slid closer into Hermann's side, hoping a little bit that his sexy proximity would remind Hermann why he put up with him in the first place. And keep him from getting kicked out. “Like... seventh months ago?”

“Seven-?!” Hermann stopped himself, swallowing his words. His eyelashes flickered. “But that would mean... did we start living together five months into our relationship?”

“Maybe...” Newt started. Then he perked up. “Oh! Hey! That means we've been dating a year, huh?”

“On the twenty-third,” Hermann mumbled. He started to roll away from Newt, to turn on his side, but all the declaration got him was a lapful of naked Newt.

“You remember the date? Aww, honey, that's awesome!”

“I'm a mathematician. Of course I remember dates. Don't ever call me that again.”

Newt just made a happy growling sound and buried his face in Hermann's neck, snuffling and kissing at every inch of skin he could find. Hermann squirmed beneath him before mostly stilling, his hands coming up to hold gently at Newt's waist, as if either of them had the refractory period to get it up again so soon.

“Do you want to go to Tokyo?” Hermann asked after a long moment of quiet.

Oh yeah. That reminded Newt as to exactly what they had been talking about before Hermann's sentimentality got him sidetracked. “Eh. It's a pretty good package, they're trying to woo me with.” His hand slipped down to Hermann's nuts and cupped them gently. “But then again, I got a pretty good package right here...”

Herman scoffed and brought his leg up, knocking Newt's hand away.

“Honestly, can't you take this one thing seriously?”

That gave Newt pause. He lifted himself up on his hands, staring down at Hermann whose face was turned away, toward the wall.

“Dude,” Newt whispered. He leaned forward to tug at Hermann's chin, forcing him to look at him. Hermann only held eye contact for a moment before dropping his gaze. “ _Dude_ , I am being serious. I'm not gonna up and leave you.You're the best part about being here.”

“Don't be ridiculous,” Hermann grumbled. “If they are presenting you with an highly attractive offer, you should go. Do not throw your career away just for some-”

“Love?” Newt interrupted. “Because like, I _love_ you, man. And you and me? We're a package deal. The PPDC's gonna have to learn that sooner or later, so it might as well be sooner.”

Hermann frowned. “But your-”

“Do you wanna go to Tokyo?”

Hermann blinked. “Shouldn't I be the one asking you that?”

Newt shook his head. “Naw, man. It's a good deal, but I'll stay here if you're here. It's not like I'm hurting for cash. So: do you wanna go?”

Newt waited with baited breath, trying not to give anything away. Trying to make sure that Hermann's decision would be his own, and not influenced by what Newt wanted. Which, yeah: Newt kinda wanted to go to Tokyo ( _manga,_ dude! _Manga_!!). But it wasn't a deal-breaker for him.

After a long while, during which time he seemed to be truly weighing the pros and cons of the situation quite seriously, Hermann finally sighed. “I don't suppose it will feel much different than here. America has never felt like home to me, as it is. Tokyo will be much the same. And if they think you can contribute to the cause out there better than here, then you should absolutely go.”

Newt grinned and leaned down to kiss Hermann gently. “I'll email them tomorrow. See if they've got room for the two of us,” he mumbled against Hermann's lips.

When he pulled back, Hermann was flushing slightly. “Er. Well. I suppose if you're asking for the two of us... Perhaps only ask for the one room?” Hermann frowned, glancing around his small apartment. “Seeing as we've apparently been cohabiting for the past six months, and we haven't killed each other. It might help our chances of them accepting the both of us.”

Newt totally didn't even _try_ to ignore the happiness burbling in his stomach. He threw himself down onto Hermann's chest and squeezed him tight—carefully, carefully, not too hard.

Just as Newt thought he might be falling asleep, Hermann shifted and whispered in his hair: “And for the record: my feelings for you are... equal. To yours for me.”

And at that point, there was nothing for Newt to do but respond with a tortuously long blow-job for his stupid, awesome partner.

* * *

 _10_ _/20_ _19_ _..._ _T-_ _Five_ _Years,_ _Two_ _Months_ _to the Breach_

Pockey fell from Newt's mouth as he shoveled it in, racing down the streets of Tokyo and then doubling back for Hermann's more sedate pace.

“I'm just _saying_ ,” he was saying, “ _think_ about it.”

“I _am_ thinking about it and it's a wonder I haven't vomited into the streets,” Hermann grumbled. Newt darted ahead and then fell behind, switching sides on Hermann and then swinging back around to the original side he was on. He couldn't walk as slow as Hermann needed him to, he just couldn't, but he _could_ stay at-pace with him. It just required some extra moving around, on his end. Which, hey: fine by Newt.

“I think it would taste _awesome_ ,” Newt proclaimed.

“If I find you dead in the lab one day because you've fried up one of your specimens, I am _not_ going to mourn you,” Hermann threatened. “I won't even attend your funeral.”

“Well then I'm cutting you out of my will,” Newt shot back. Oh! Squid! Newt darted ahead through the crowd, eyes firmly locked on the squid vendor. By the time he had paid and gotten his treat, Hermann had managed to walk a half-block past the stall. Newt scrambled to catch up as he ate.

“It'll probably just taste like squid,” Newt pointed out around a mouthful of squid.

“What about the ones which look like reptiles? Or the ones which look like fish?” Hermann asked, before he seemed to remember himself and the conversation they were having. “Which is _beside_ the point, since their DNA is silicate-based, as _you_ discovered, and riddled with toxins to boot!”

Japanese businessmen and women bumped and jostled against the two of them in increasing frequency as they approached the train station. Newt started hovering more closely to Hermann, positioning himself to take the brunt of any jarrings.

“So it'll be like eating, I don't know, blowfish! My toxin milking machine is like, eighty-percent up and running, you know it is. Just wait until I perfect it.”

“Oh, well then it'll just be like eating a computer chip, you moron,” Hermann grumbled. Newt grabbed their swipe cards out of his pocket and bustled them both through the turnstiles, scanning the terminal for a relatively clear spot to guide Hermann as they waited for the train.

“People eat weird shit all the time! There's a dude that eats nickles and broken glass! I'm sure some squishy silicon will be _fine_ ,” Newt shot back. He tossed the napkin and stick from his squid into a trashcan as they passed it, then settled in on Hermann's side closest to the rest of the population as they waited for the train. A man and a woman jostled into them, giggling and holding hands as they pushed through the ground. A strangled “ _Gomen_!” reached Newt just as he noticed the shiny wedding rings and the red dress the woman was wearing. Newly-weds. Probably on some cute little adventure on the way to their honeymoon. Newt smiled after them, even though they _had_ bumped into Hermann.

“Am I really in your will?”

Newt blinked away from the distraction, turning his attention back to Hermann. “What?”

Hermann was looking peculiarly at Newt. “Your will. You said you would cut me out if I didn't attend your funeral. Does that mean I'm currently _in_ said will?”

Newt shrugged. He'd gotten it changed when they moved to Tokyo together, but hadn't told Hermann. It was just in case. You never knew when there'd be a lab accident and Hermann wouldn't be there to save him.

“Yeah, I mean. No big deal or anything. What, am I not in yours? Hermann: I'm hurt. Ouch, man.” Newt patted at his heart. “Right here. You got me _right_ here.”

“No. Yes.” Hermann's face turned that blotchy red color it got when he grew flustered. “I mean. Rather. You are in my will. I adjusted it, in case of incident.”

“Oh.” Newt wasn't sure what to say to that. Or how to react. Besides just gaping at Hermann stupidly, like a dying Kaiju. But Hermann wasn't doing too much better in the reaction department, looking at Newt with pretty much the same expression. Newt just... He hadn't realized Hermann took this as seriously as he did. He guessed.

Though, of course he knew Hermann took this seriously. Hermann took _everything_ seriously. It was more like... Newt hadn't know he felt that much. That deeply for him. Even though he knew, he kind of knew. He mostly knew.

“Marry me.”

The words slipped out of Newt's mouth before the thought even occurred to him. But once they were out, they were right, a hundred percent right, so Newt didn't take them back.

Hermann stared, mouth agape.

“Marry me,” Newt repeated. Stumbling over himself, he dropped down on one knee, right there in the busy train terminal. The only ring he had on him was his MIT college ring, so he slipped that off and held it up. “Hermann Gottlieb. You are the love of my fucking life and I mean we're _pretty much_ married already so you might as well. Also, I'm totally hot, and love to suck your dick-” Hermann gasped and started to pull away, delicate sense of embarrassment overriding his shock for a moment. Newt grabbed at his hand and made him stay. “Sorry, sorry! Okay, I mean. You know. I love you. Because you're so... _you_ , you know? And you totally love me right back, I know you do, so. Might as well, right? Uh. Will you marry me?”

Hermann was silent for all of two seconds before he was scowling and pulling unfruitfully at Newt's hand. “Would you stand up you impossible fool?”

Newt popped up, grinning. He knew Hermann's way of saying “Yes” and “I totally love you right back”, and that was definitely it.

Still. “Is that a yes?”

Hermann was glancing wildly around the station, all flustered and huffing at the scene Newt had made. Finally he rolled his eyes and glared at Newt. “Yes, that's a 'yes'. You know it is, you incorrigible little-” Newt cut him off with a whoop and a kiss, pulling him in tight even though Hermann was half-heartedly squirming away. But he was also kissing back, so Newt knew it was just a token resistance. Amidst the kiss Newt managed to slip his university ring over Hermann's finger. It fit, if not a little loosely. Hermann immediately clenched his hand tightly closed, keeping the ring in place.

“I promise: I'll totally get you a better ring, dude. You can even pick it out if you want final veto on it.”

“Metals are so much more expensive now,” Hermann was mumbling into the kiss. “You shouldn't. With rationing and the Jaeger programs-”

“Oh my gosh shut _up_ I am getting you a ring like a real husband and you're totally not going to stop me.”

Hermann pulled back abruptly. “What country will we get married in, though?”

Newt rolled his eyes. “What country do you think we'll be living in after we save the world?”

“America?”

“ _America_!” Newt shouted, laughing. “And if we end up in the UK or Germany we can get married there too, whatevs dude. I'll marry you in every fucking country on the planet if you want me to.”

“That's not _technically_ -”

“Shhh, trust me: You want to get married in Vatican City and I'll sneak a minister in and forge a marriage license and get it done, you just watch.”

The train came and they shoved themselves on board, Newt acting as much as a buffer as he could between the crowds and Hermann. They ended up with Hermann's back against the wall of the train, Newt caging him in. Hermann was smiling fondly at Newt—disturbingly fondly. Hermann _never_ looked that fondly at Newt. Maybe after sex, in a few rare moments, but never just... out in the open like this.

“What?”

Hermann's mouth got all twisty the way it did when he was trying very hard to repress his emotions but failing spectacularly. Finally a full-bore smile shone through and he leaned in close to Newt, nuzzling their noses together.

“For future reference: I love you too, you adorable sod.”

* * *

_6/2020... T-Four Years, Six Months to the Breach_

“You gotta talk to me eventually.”

“I do not, persistently annoying ghost in my apartment.”

Newt sighed and stalked over to the table Hermann was sitting at, hunched over a pile of papers. His cane was set beside the door—unnecessary inside their small apartment, where there was always a surface within reach for Hermann to grab onto for support, but becoming more and more necessary outside it. Newt averted his eyes from the reminder of Hermann's worsening condition, and did his best not to blame himself. It was the stress of the job, of trying to find a model that would breach the Breach, of working day and night under threat of Kaiju attack in a world that was more and more shying away from hope.

But, pulling stunts like these probably didn't help lower Hermann's stress levels.

“You gotta admit it's quality work.”

“I can't even seen the colors properly,” Hermann pointed out. Right: colorblindness. It was what had kept him out of flight school when he was younger, before the MS diagnosis.

“And you know how much they're a part of my work, my life. They're a part of _me_.”

“So you felt the need to stain your skin like some kind of Kaiju groupie?”

“You know how much I love a good monster movie.”

“This is _not_ a _movie_ , Newton!” Hermann snapped, head coming up at last. His eyes were brimming with tears, and the sight of them caused Newt to jerk back in shock. He hadn't realized how bad it was. How upset he had made Hermann.

“Hermann... Hey, hey: I'm sorry, man. I didn't...” Newt sputtered into silence, at a loss. Finally he leaned forward, fingers itching to close around Hermann's but holding himself back. “Tell me what's going on. Because I don't know.”

Hermann shook his head, looking away from Newt once more. And _that—_ fuck, _that_ hurt even more than seeing Hermann on the verge of tears.

“I'm just tired, Newton,” Hermann finally said. And fuck, he _sounded_ tired, he _looked_ tired. Hermann slumped back in his chair, tugging his glasses from his eyes to rub futilely at them. They were worse, because his symptoms were flaring up. Because he wasn't sleeping, and he was working himself too hard, and he was stressed out. And of course, Newt hadn't been doing anything to help out. Some husband he was.

“The Jaeger program can get along without you for a couple days,” Newt reassured him. Dropping down to his knees, Newt settled himself between Hermann's thighs and started rubbing. It wasn't sexual comfort: he was trying to settle the muscles, to bring back some of the good sensation and control that Hermann lost during these flare-ups. He didn't even think his massages helped, not really, but there was nothing else he could do. And Newt _hated_ having a problem he couldn't fix, especially a biological one.

(He'd made a promise to himself, four years ago: as soon as the world was saved, as soon as they had slipped the noose of the apocalypse and his work with the PPDC was done, Newt would go into MS research. He never told Hermann about his promise; never wanted Hermann to feel like he was broken, or like Newt didn't want him the way he was. Because Newt loved him the way he was, of _course_ he did. But he didn't want to see Hermann in pain, _ever_ , if he could help it. And especially not this constant pain, this degenerative disease that was eating away their time together just as surely as the Kaiju blue was eating away at Earth's ecosystem and the apocalypse seemed to creep closer with every passing day.)

“I know I can do more,” Hermann whispered. His eyes were closed, one hand thrown over them, head fallen back against the chair. “My _mind_ can do more. It's this... _infirm_ body that's keeping me from contributing.”

“Don't you...” Newt's voice cracked. He swallowed heavily, trying his best to focus on rubbing Hermann's legs. “Don't you say that, dude. You're the reason we even have Jeager in the first place. You're the guy who came up with the operating system. You're the one who found the Breach. If you had stopped at the first accomplishment, that _alone_ would have secured your name in the history books. Even if you were... perfectly healthy. But dude, you've done _so much more_.”

“But it's not enough, is it?” Hermann whispered. “The Kaiju are going to start coming faster. Soon. My new model-”

“Your new model can't predict shit, man, and you know it. The Breach obviously has some sort of slight time distortion thing going on on the other side, because their time and our time doesn't match up right. Your new model is based of pessimism and a sense of doom, not data.”

 _That_ was what made Hermann finally lift his hand from his eyes and peer down at Newt. Something that might have been a smile. “Do not even pretend you understand the finer points of my model.”

Newt snorted and levered himself up using their kitchen table. “I understand it.”

“In your wildest fantasies.”

“Yeah yeah: me dumb biologist who managed to build a machine to harvest toxic chemicals from a previously unknown alien race, you genius mathematician. Get your ass in bed.”

Hermann snorted, but actually did as Newt asked, stripping down haltingly and letting Newt help lower him into bed.

But when Newt went to strip and slip into bed alongside him, Hermann held out a hand and grabbed his wrist.

“No,” he grumbled, eyes already shut. Newt stopped, wondering if he was going to be relegated to sleeping under the kitchen table. It was a small apartment: it wasn't like they had a couch he could be banished to. But then Hermann was tugging gently at his shirt. “Leave it on. I don't need to awake in the middle of the night and have a heart attack because I believe myself to be facing down a herd of Kaijus.”

“Kaiju, you uncultured swine,” Newt grumbled. But he left his shirt on and crawled into bed with Hermann. At least the poor guy would get some sleep this way.

It took a couple months, but by the time the first set of tattoos were healed (and duh, Newt was _definitely_ getting more. He only got his chest done, so far! And there were so many more Kaiju for the rest of his body) Hermann had warmed up to them.

Namely, “warmed up” to them in the sense that he would run his tongue over them, sucking on them like he was trying to draw the ink from Newt's skin into his mouth, laving them with attention like they were colorful pieces of candy, a mosaic of flavors and shapes all over Newt's body. Newt spent an evening, trapped under Hermann's weight as he just sucked on his nipples _unendingly_. Newt ended up coming all over Hermann's stomach, and the guy didn't even _stop_. Not until he ejaculated some thirty minutes later, sucking Newt's nipples _raw_.

He got full sleeves four months later and found himself kicked out of their apartment for a day.

The next day in the lab, Hermann was staring at his arms, eyes clearly calculating down to the day when he'd be able to grant those tattoos the attention he had the other ones.

* * *

 _1/2021..._ _T-_ _Four_ _Years to the Breach_

Newt and Hermann stood, side-by-side atop the observation deck of the Tokyo Shatterdome, and watched through binoculars as the Jaeger fell over and over again, until finally it didn't get up. Hermann was gripping Newt's hand tight enough to bruise, bodies trembling in the cold and the rain of the dark, miserable night. Another Jaeger was on its way: the one with the Australians. But it wouldn't make it in time to save its fellow hunter. They were safe where they were: the Kaiju was still far, far out at sea. So long as the Australians didn't fall as well, they would be safe. Even if they did, Newt and Hermann would have plenty of time to get to the PPDC's bunker.

Still, Newt shivered and clutched Hermann's hand closer.

“I've never seen anything like it,” he mumbled, binoculars still glued firmly to his face.

“I don't believe I want to see anything like it ever again,” Hermann muttered back.

Newt managed to muster up enough self control to pull the binoculars away from his face and glance over at Hermann. He had gone white, completely white, and his entirely body was trembling violently. Newt was feeling similarly distressed, but also weirdly exhilarated. This was another Kaiju for him to study, another piece of data for him to examine and get closer to understanding.

Another monster from his childhood come to life. Another chance to step up and be a hero, to save the day.

Another chance to fail, once more.

Because he was a terrible husband, because he didn't know what to say to make this better or how to deal with any of this, Newt squeezed Hermann's hand and brought the binoculars back to his face.

“They want us in Sydney,” he explained.

“Are they wooing us with promises of larger apartments and better data?” Hermann asked sarcastically.

Newt sighed and lowered his binoculars. The Australians were on the horizon, the light of the helicopters just barely visible as a misty, moving star at the limit of his vision. They'd take down this new monster.

“They need us there,” Newt replied. “Their science division is slashed, they've got no one left who knows the anatomy of the monsters and their weaknesses like I do. And since they've got one of the best Jaeger out there-”

“-they'll be seeing the most combat,” Hermann finished for him.

“Hey: at least the weather'll be better for you.”

Hermann nodded, grim-faced as he stared out over the horizon and watched the Jaeger do battle with the Kaiju.

“And they speak English.”

Hermann wrinkled up his nose. “With the most dreadful accent this side of Perth,” he complained. “I can't ever take a damned thing they say seriously. They always sound like they're two seconds away from asking me if I want to 'have a Fosters with me, mate!'” Hermann put on possibly the _worst_ Australian accent Newt had ever heard for the last part. Newt laughed, a little bit brokenly but still a laugh, at that.

“I suppose we go where we're needed,” Hermann finally said at last.

Newt smiled up at him, rain sloughing off their jackets and down, down, down into the Pacific. Off to Sydney, then. At least everyone knew they were a package deal, at this point.

* * *

5/2022... _T-_ _Two Years, Seven Months_ _to the Breach_

Newt lay on his side, pocket knife out and carving into the soft wood of their bedposts. Wood bedposts: there was a comforting throwback if he'd ever seen one. The Sydney Shatterdome had done alright by them, in his opinion. At least, they had wood bedposts. That was something.

The bed dipped as Hermann slipped awkwardly in, legs more noncompliant now than they once were. Automatically Newt tucked his knife away and rolled over, hands seeking Hermann's thighs to rub away the tension of the day.

“I swear, if I didn't suspect that carving Kaijus into our bedposts was satiating your need to carve more Kaijus on your body, I'd berate you for it.”

“Kaiju,” Newt sleepily corrected.

After a beat of silence while Newt rubbed his legs and Hermann read his papers, Newt commented: “I thought you'd be in the library longer.” He wasn't complaining, just stating a fact.

The library was what they called the spare bedroom the PPDC had mistakenly given them. When they had first arrived at the Sydney Shatterdome, they were given separate quarters—neither of them knew quite why, since they thought it was common knowledge that they were married (and not just in America: the UK, Germany, and Japan. Newt had plans for another ceremony in Australia, when they got a spare minute to themselves). Perhaps it was because they kept their own names after they were married, perhaps it was just an oversight. In any case, it wasn't as though there was a huge amount of staff, scientific or otherwise, left in the Sydney Shatterdome. The person in charge of their accommodations had said they could keep it.

It was Newt who suggested Hermann turn it into a library-cum-office, for when he needed to get away from Newt's incessant chatter. Because even Newt was self-aware enough to realize that sometimes people, even his own husband, needed some peace and quiet away from him for an evening or so.

“The library seemed much too large a space for just one man,” Hermann joked with his dry sense of humor. The rooms at Sydney were the smallest they had lived in yet. Newt took the statement for the endearment it was.

His hands kneaded steadily at Hermann's skinny thighs. Were they thinner than they used to be? Shit, he hadn't been paying close enough attention. He was so sure he was getting close with this new silicate-based DNA analysis he was perfecting, more specific and useful in inter-Kaiju comparisons, so focused entirely on that project, that he had been neglecting Hermann and his health. Stupid mistake, pathetically cruel of him. It was getting harder, every day, to remember what mattered outside of stopping the Kaiju. To remember that Hermann mattered, even balanced on the brink of destruction as they were, even tumbling over the edge into oblivion. Hermann mattered.

“You think we'll manage to spare some time for Christmas this year?” Newt wondered out loud.

Hermann adjusted the stack of papers in his hands. They were never without a tablet or a pile of journals, these days: either of them. There was always more work to be done, more data to analyze, numbers to crunch. They were the few left, the few still fighting. Rumors were swirling about the Shatterdomes losing funding, the PPDC being dismantled. Newt and Hermann were two of only _four_ total scientists on base: the rest had been let go, off to find work at inland universities, far behind the comforts of the Walls that the world leaders were wasting their time and energies on. Even Sydney had one, for all the good it would do them when a Category IV decided to punch its way through. Which it inevitably would, if Newt knew a single thing about Kaiju. They'd find a way to get through, to wreck their havoc. And that wasn't even mentioning Newt's theories about the possibility of a Category V.

“I don't know,” Hermann replied absently, eyes flickering behind his glasses as he ran through the journals in his hands. “Is your mother asking after us again?”

“Yeah,” Newt lied. She was, but the reason he wanted to go see her was, well: for himself. He missed her, and his father, and the rest of the family. Hermann might have his strained relationship with his father, but Newt loved his parents, and hated being out of contact with them so much.

“And I guess I want a traditional Christmas this year,” he sighed. “Don't you miss that? _Weihnachten_? _O_ _Tannenbaum_? Baking plätzchen with the family and eating half of it before it's even baked?”

Hermann sighed and let the papers drop to his stomach. He tilted his head to the side, watching Newt with a soft longing smoothing his features. “Dipping the hot plätzchenin milk so it doesn't scald your tongue straight from the oven.”

“Yeah,” Newt whispered. He smiled.

Hermann leaned down and brought Newt into a firm kiss. A kiss that held a purpose behind it. In a half-breath Newt was rolling on top of Hermann, pushing his papers to the ground (in order: he kept them in order) and tossing both their glasses down on top of them. Sleeping shorts followed suit, and soon Newt was rolling his body against Hermann's, kissing him sweetly as their chests, groins, and thighs all slid across each other in smooth movements.

“We're going to save the world,” Newt whispered against Hermann's mouth as he reached down to take both their erections in hand. Hermann's thin body moved up against his, arching into his with a kind of aching desire that still had Newt kind of amazed that it was directed at him. Even if he was totally adorable.

“We're going to stop this scourge,” Hermann affirmed back. One hand darted up to grab at Newt's shoulder, trembling and grasping desperately, as if he was afraid he might fall without Newt to anchor him.

Newt leaned down to kiss Hermann, face screwed up tight in worry and hope and doubt and love. When he finally brought himself off the white-out was a release, a moment of quiet stillness in his otherwise noisy mind.

But then, as he settled snug against Hermann and his mind came back online, the quiet was over, and the _tick tick ticking_ of the clocks of the world winding down resumed.

* * *

_1/2023... T-Two Years to the Breach_

Newt shoved his hands in his pockets, standing in the rain on top of a Shatterdome one again. Only this time the Kaiju was dead, being carved up and brought to him by extraction crews who were the best this side of legality had to offer. Spotlights shone in the distance, lighting the way for the crews in the murky deep of the Pacific.

The coral reef was almost completely destroyed thanks to Kaiju Blue and the sheer destruction the footsteps of the monsters left in their wake.

“Did you get the email?”

Hermann's voice was strained, shouting over the wind and rain. Automatically Newt turned back to him, to save him the trouble of coming out on the slick surfaces and chilling damp. But Hermann waved him off, not even hesitating a moment as he joined him at the railing. He hung the cane up on it and leaned his weight there, waiting for Newt to respond.

“Yup.”

Newt waited a moment, trying to collect his thoughts. Finally he turned to Hermann, eyes darting across his face like there was an answer written there, something he hadn't managed to see in the past seven years. Something he had missed.

“You get the feeling this might be it?” he asked, half-shouting over the storm. “Like Hong Kong might be our last stand?” _Our last, best hope for peace_. Newt shoved the quote away. Hermann probably wouldn't appreciate the reference, even if he did get it.

Hermann glanced out over the railing, past the shoreline, out to where the extraction crews were ripping apart the Kaiju as fast as they could.

“If it is...” Hermann started. He turned and looked at Newt. “If it is, then we should get a move on. Mustn’t keep our destiny waiting.”

Newt laughed, shaking his head. “So yeah, then? Onward to Hong Kong?”

Hermann looked over at Newt, that excitable little smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Newt, my dear: there is no one I'd rather be with, at the end of all things.”

“Did you just mis-quote Lord of the Rings at me?”

Hermann narrowed his eyes and turned away. “I improved it for context-appropriateness,” he huffed.

Grinning, Newt sidled over to Hermann, snuggling up against his side. Even though Hermann gave no conscious indication of it, his body language shifted, letting Newt in. “You know... I think I like your quote better?” he cajoled.

Hermann's face was turned away, eyes across the ocean, but Newt could tell he was softening up.

“In fact...” Newt pondered. Leaning in on his tiptoes, he murmured into Hermann's ear: “that might be the most romantic thing you've ever said to me.”

“To Hong Kong, then?” Hermann asked.

Newt shrugged. Better there than nowhere. Better there than behind a Wall.

“To Hong Kong,” he affirmed.

* * *

_1/2025... T+1 Day Since the Breach_

Tendo was bleary-eyed and exhausted to his very bones, but too hopped up on adrenaline and happiness to go to sleep just yet. Raleigh and Mako were still on their way back from the middle of the damn ocean, Herc had hidden himself away from some much-needed solitude, and the rest of the LOCCENT staff were either sleeping or participating in the ongoing party in the Jaeger docking bay. Which left just two guys Tendo could share a celebratory drink with and quiet conversation—that is, if they weren't already celebrating on their own.

Golden morning light was streaming its way into the stuffy lab when Tendo poked his head in. The sight that greeted him informed him pretty quickly that he wouldn't be drinking with Hermann and Newt this morning. Lying sprawled across the couch, battered, bruised, and well-beyond consciousness, were Newt and Hermann. Hermann was sitting upright, both legs propped up on the coffee table in front of them, head thrown back over the back of the couch. His hands were tangled up in the man lying across his lap: Newt was curled up on him like a kitten, all contentment and complete assurance that he was safe in this lap.

The two of them were filthy, wet, and barely taped-together, but they had an air of triumph to them, even in sleep. Tendo watched them just long enough to see Newt stir slightly, only to have Hermann's hands unconsciously soothe him back to sleep: stroking through his hair and wriggling softly at his back. In a moment were both still again, sleeping soundly.

Tendo left his tumblr of good bourbon on a shelf where they were sure to see it, then exited quietly. The two deserved it, after everything they'd been through, and everything they'd done. They'd saved the damn world, after all.

It was the hour after Zero and all Newt wanted to do was rest with Hermann. They had the time for it, now.

**Author's Note:**

> The idea for Hermann having MS came from many fic discussions with [ Pookaseraph](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/Pookaseraph/pseuds/Pookaseraph)


End file.
